Beyond the Mask
by PhantomAngel042
Summary: A story that takes the direction of ALW's 2004 movie and turns the ending upside down, then continues 15 years or so. You'll like this if you hate that Christine ends up with Raoul. ChErik pairing, with some new characters.
1. Chapter 1

Okay, POTO phans, here's a story for you. But only if you hate the way ALW's movie turns out, with Christine betraying Erik. And only if you don't mind Raoul-bashing. I'm not gonna tell you anything else, you'll just have to read and find out! Oh, yeah, don't mind if the ages and dates aren't true... I make them up as I go, so things work out better. It's only loosely based on the true story of the Phantom of the Opera.

P.S.-I don't own any of the characters (yet) in this story, it's all just for fun, so don't sue me! I'm poor anyway.

Beginnings

Early dawn had just sent its first tendrils of light cascading over the horizon as a lone dark figure stalked across the cemetery, blending easily with mist and shadow. He gazed silently at the tombstones, noting the cynicism, the irony of their flattering words. Death cares naught for the lamentations of the living, and the figure appeared to know death well. Flashing golden eyes stared into the distance, lost in their own private realm. He stood thus, leaning gently against the cold embrace of a stone angel, for a long time. Snow began to fall, softly, gathering in the folds of his cloak, settling on his long dark lashes, in his thick black hair. The only movement for many minutes was the soft swirl of his warm breath in the chilled morning. Suddenly, cutting through the eerie silence, quiet sobs filled the air around him. Woken from his reverie, he turned quickly, the cloak billowing out around the man, enveloping him in darkness as he searched for the origin of the cries. He stopped abruptly, astonished by what he found; a young girl, at most six or seven, huddled on the ground at the foot of a grave. A monument had recently been placed, and the girl curled upon its base. It read:

Daae - loving father, husband, and violinist of the ages.

Without a sound, he circled behind the frail figure and touched her gently on the shoulder. She whirled to meet his steady gaze, teary eyes dancing wildly, searching his face for a long, tense moment.

"W-who are you? And w-what do you want?" she managed finally to gasp between sobs.

"I am no one, for none care to know me," he replied darkly, his deep voice calm, soothing. "And I mean you no harm." The girl relaxed visibly.

"Why do you wear that thing on your face?" she asked, pointing to the brilliant white mask which hid the right half of his face.

"Ah, child, did your father never teach you not to ask questions in idleness?"

"My father is dead," she whispered, her lucid, deep brown eyes filling with tears again. "As is my mother. Whatever will I do? Who will care for me now?"

"Have you nowhere to go?" he asked, curious. She merely shook her head, her light brown curls swaying an bobbing. "Then you shall have to come with me. What is your name, little one?"

"Christine, monsieur. Christine Daae." He nodded briskly, then picked up the child gently as she wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled her face into his chest, still crying. "And what is your name, sir?" she mumbled into his black shirt. He stopped suddenly. The girl looked up, surprised at the abrupt lack of movement, and found his gold eyes searching her brown ones. Neither spoke, and his fierce gaze softened. He continued to walk, and answered her finally.

"No one has ever asked me my name. I can hardly recall ever having one. But I remember; it is Erik."

"Erik, my protector," she sighed, and lay back against his chest. She felt strange. She had just lost her father, the only one in the world who had cared for her since her mother's death. She knew she was the one needing rescued, and yet she could not help but feel as though she had to save the strange man carrying her. He was so young, but she could feel that he carried all the sadness of the world. He seemed so alone, just as she had been. Perhaps that is why she already trusted him so deeply. And perhaps that is why, after he had left her, as she grew older, she made herself believe he had been a dream she made up to keep her young mind preoccupied while she sought shelter.

The figure, however, knew none of this. His dark cloak flowed behind him as he walked, offset by the light blue dress the girl wore. He passed a hand across her eyes, and her eyelids fluttered gently as she fell asleep. As the sun rose, burning, into the winter sky, the dark young man made his way into the heart of Paris.

A dark figure stalked the labyrinths deep beneath the Paris Opera House. He paced the floors, seemingly undecided about something. In his arms, he carried a sleeping girl. His black cape swirled around him as he prowled through the dark halls.

"Obviously she can't stay with me," he mused aloud. "They all fear me. And it is unseemly for a girl to be alone with a... young man such as I. But I cannot leave her on her own. Then again, why not? She is not my responsibility." Erik stopped and glared at the girl sleeping peacefully and resting upon his chest. His gaze softened, and he resumed roving the corridors.

"Ah," he muttered as he gained inspiration,"I will give her to the ballet instructor... Madame Giry. She has a daughter about this age, I believe." Saying this, he took a left down a hallway and walked quickly through the darkness, his path illuminated only by a torch every hundred feet. He emerged in front of a set of doors. He headed for the third on the right, and laid the sleeping child in a bundle on the doorstep. Retreating to a storage room, he found parchment, ink, and pen, and composed a note in short, childish writing:

Mme. Giry, you will take this girl and raise her, by my orders. -O.G.

This done, Erik took the paper and laid it on the girl's chest, where it could not possibly be missed. He rapped upon the door, then stepped back and blended into the shadows of the hallway. For a long, tense moment, nothing happened, as shallow torch light flicked golden across the young man's pale face, and fierce golden eyes glowing brighter than the flame. Then, at last, a tired and concerned young woman opened the door. She looked around, bewildered, before her gaze found the sleeping girl. She read the note quickly, glanced around once, then woke the child and took her inside, shutting the door softly behind her.

A black shadow glided out from the darkness of the hall and paced quickly down the corridor in utter silence, turning a corner and vanishing into the new day.


	2. Chapter 2

Well, here we go, people, Chapter Two. I hope you like it. This story took me four months to complete. So read on, dear ones, and sate your thirst for good literature! (Okay, that was pathetic, but I try.)

PS- I don' t own any of the characters, don' t sue me, copyright, blah, blah, blah...

Fate

As the years progressed, the dark figure watched the child he had saved grow, but always from afar. She became an accomplished ballerina, and she was in the opera' s choir, but he never dared venture close enough to single her voice out from the crowd. So he lived on, watching his fledgling and imagining her thin, beautiful child' s voice.

So the years passed on, and Erik' s late teenage years passed behind him as he grew into an adult. His age, it seemed, was never equal to his mind, as he matured faster than was right for any human. The girl, though, matured exactly as she was supposed to: from a rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed young girl into a beautiful, strong young woman. Erik connected with something within her. Possibly it was the slightly hardened, wizened look that glinted occasionally in her brown eyes. Or it may have been that he found her to be the perfect, brilliant compliment to his own dark nature, though he never knew her.

She became an obsession to him, but he saw her only from afar, never daring approach his angel, that ethereal beauty on earth. He longed desperately to caress her tender cheeks, gaze into her liquid eyes, taste her sweet lips. He loved everything about her, from her sorrowful glance to her long, dark brown, silky curls, to her pale complexion on a slim, graceful figure. For many years, he denied himself the fullness of these thoughts, for he thought none could ever love one such as he. Anger welled within him, that he should have the woman he loved so close, but that she would never love him because of the dark inheritance Fate had bestowed upon him. These thoughts drove him mad until he could stand them no longer. He swept out of the theater and headed for the peaceful emptiness of the cemetery.

Erik leaned gracefully against an ancient oak, shrouded in shadow, thinking of the girl , of his pain, and of the cruelty of the world to deny him the only thing he had ever truly desired. He stood thus for hours, watching the fading light of the sun, until the color began to seep out of the sky and he was left in his preferred darkness.

Abruptly, he was pulled out of his trance when he heard a voice, high and soft, beautiful and plaintive as a maiden. In a lifetime of dealing in the performance and creation of passionate music, he had never heard such a sound; so pure and innocent, filled with longing and deep sadness. It cut through his hardened soul, piercing him to the heart. The song, expressing the grief of loss, and the desperate hope of redemption, filled him with joy; yet tears pricked his eyes as he listened. His mind spun with the beauty of the strange, sweet sound. He felt if he did not know the source, he would die.

Erik headed toward the music, the beau ideal of amateur song, drifting silently across the snow-covered lawn, his breath an icy swirl of mist that trailed off into the night. He navigated effortlessly through the tombs and grave markers, and stopped abruptly, astonished. For there, on her knees at her father' s grave, his Christine sang her heart out to the stars, to her lost father, and pleaded to the mercy of the world to ease her pain. Erik knew he had to have her, and a vague plan began to form in his mind. He stepped behind a sculpted angel, and watched the girl as she finished her lament, her head bowed between her shoulders, shaking gently with silent tears.

"Young one, why do you weep?" he asked her, a voice in the shadows. She gasped, stood, and whirled around, searching for the source of the strange, familiar voice.

"Who's there?" she demanded through her tears.

"Do not fear me. I have watched you for a long time now. How strange that we should reunite here, exactly as it was ten years ago when we first met."

"Ten years? You've watched me for ten years? How have I never seen you then?" she challenged, wide-eyed with fear and curiosity.

"You never sought to know me," he responded, "but I am always there, surrounding you."

"Are... you my angel?" Seeing an opportunity, Erik grasped at it.

"Yes. Your..." He cast his thoughts about wildly, searching for anything that would bind her to him, "your father sent me to protect you, and to teach you to sing."

"My father? Did... did he really send you to me? Then you must be the Angel of Music!"

Erik was pleased at how well his plan was working. Under the guise of her guardian, he could be near her always and she would never know his true self.

"Return to the Opera House. Your instruction will begin tomorrow. Tell no one that I am training you. When the timing is right, you will show your talent, but not yet. Now, go."

She glanced around, searching for him, but did as he said. Satisfied, Erik watched her go, then turned and made his way back to his subterranean lair beneath the theater.


	3. Chapter 3

Yeah! Chapter Three. One of the longest, I think. Definitely the longest yet. (Don't worry, there's twenty.) So, forget the intro, and just read! I love this part!

Oh, yeah, I don't own any of the characters yet, don't sue me, etc.

Discovery

Time flew by for the pair, she engulfed by her studies, every day growing more steady, more sure of her voice. If it was perfection before, her song was ethereal now. He became consumed in his effort to teach her everything he knew, and in ensuring that she never realized his identity as the infamous Phantom of the Opera. In the next year that they spent together, she never saw a glimpse of him. Every day she fell more in love with the strange voice which filled her mind and unlocked hidden, dark secrets she never would have discovered on her own. And he was already lost to that pure, beautiful soul which gave him companionship after so many years of solitude. Yet, his thoughts burned with the suspicion that, though he had been so good to her, if she knew who he was, she would turn away from him. Finally, this thought began to drive him mad, and he knew he must find out if this were true.

Erik decided he would reveal himself to her. He began to make all the preparations to dampen her fears, to keep her in love with him despite his horrid face. Soon, though, his plans were foiled completely. During a routine rehearsal of "Hannibal", Erik had finally suffered enough agony at the horrid screeching of the Opera's leading soprano, La Carlotta. As she showed off, singing a high-pitched, glamorous aria, he simply cut the curtains down upon her. She narrowly escaped serious harm, but refused to sing that night in the opening show. Therefore, Madame Giry, that treacherous snake, recommended that Christine sing the part of Margarita, previously Carlotta's role. She performed as she was told, and was a phenomenal hit with the audience. Pleased with her achievement, she fled the throng of adoring fans for the tranquility of her room. Unable to contain himself any longer, Erik sang to her, his lonely song of pain, longing, and loss. Christine was at a loss for words, completely enveloped by that dark song of love. She was lost in it, bound by it, and its hypnotic beauty filled her mind.

"Where are you, my Angel?" she cried out to him. "I feel if I cannot see you, I shall die. Come to me, strange angel!"

"Look at your face in the mirror, I am there inside!" he called to her as he swung open the trap door, the mirror on hinges, through which he had watched her for so long, and ushered her inside, to the dark hallway beyond. She crossed that magical threshold, completely displaced from herself by the astonishing beauty of the black underground labyrinth. At every step, he murmured to her softly, reassurances in the oppressive darkness which threatened to steal away her soul. She knew she could no longer resist its power.

"I have brought you," Erik told her fiercely, passionately, "to the seat of sweet music's throne. Since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me, to serve me, to sing for my music."

Suddenly she stumbled in the passage of blackness, crying out and clinging to him. He gently took her into his arms, as he had ten years before, and she blinked and looked at him wondrously. "How do I know you?" she whispered, cautiously tracing a finger across his smooth, firm jaw line. "You are no angel." He shivered under he touch, which, before, he had only felt in dreams.

"You do not know me, yet you have seen me before," he told her in the tender, loving voice she had come to know this past year. "I rescued you from a dark, cold fate, when you were just a child."

Her eyes closed for a moment, as though she were searching vainly for a thought she could not find. Then, they flew open, and she gazed into his black eyes, astonished.

"The cemetery," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "My father's grave. You... you picked me up, asked my name, carried me to the Opera House, just like this. I remember, you told me your name. Erik! A name, you said, no one else knew..."

"Yes," he said. He stopped, and set her into a small boat waiting at the shore of the vast underground lake which was part of his domain. Gently, he boarded after her, and the set out for the other side, where Erik resided. Christine remained silent, too awed by the splendor of this dark new world to speak. They approached the far shore, and she finally voiced her thoughts.

"Why have you brought me here?" Oppressive silence filled the gently lit cavern, as candles flickered eerily on the walls. He did not utter a word, and she turned to look at him, standing behind her, gazing at her with longing. He picked her up again, by the waist, and set her gently on the shore.

"Christine, I love you," he said finally, baring his heart to her. "I have watched you all this time, trying to make you love me before you saw me, for I knew otherwise you would turn from me as all the rest of the world. After your performance tonight, I could not wait any longer knowing there will be many other men after your heart now. So I have brought you here to make the decision of whether you love me as well."

"Why would I not love you? You saved me, you taught me, you loved me! I've loved you, your voice, everything about you ever since you became my tutor, and how I've longed to know you. How could I not love you?"

"I feared someone would find out about us, about me instructing you, and you would discover who I am."

"Who are you, then?" she challenged, defiant. He sighed.

"I am he whom everyone fears. I am the death that stalks the halls of this opera house, and the reason why everyone fears to walk the passages in the night. I am the Phantom of the Opera." She gasped, putting a hand to her mouth to mask the sound.

"Then... you are the one who has murdered all those people?" He shook his head sadly.

"Only one. That dreadful, vile traitor Joseph Buquet. He knew too much, and I could not risk him telling the police where I am to be taken from this, the only place I have ever known as home, and to be put in a traveling circus as some kind of attraction again! God, Christine, if you only knew the cruelties of the this world! I have been hunted down, hated by all who know of my existence, even my own parents! All because of this!" he screamed, tearing the mask off his face to reveal a hideous distortion of flesh beneath, scarred and ruined, at places bared to the bone. "How am I to control the unfortunate circumstances under which I was born! It is so unfair, and you, child, will never know!"

Christine sat huddled down, sobbing quietly. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her up, saying,"Look. Look, and wonder no longer why I would not show myself to you. All who see me hate me, curse me as a monster. You, too, hate me, I can see it now in your eyes." She blinked and turned away, tears still falling down her cheeks. He let her go, striding off to the other side of the room, to sit down upon one of the dark wood chairs there. "Go, then. Go, and live your normal life, with a handsome, shallow husband who will marry you not for love, but for your beauty. Do me the one last favor, though, of telling no one what you have seen here, that I may go on living in dark loneliness, and wretched peace." he cradled his head between his hands, silent tears rolling down his face.

She glanced at him in his helpless state, pity stabbing through her heart. He did not realize that, even now, love for him burned deep within her heart; but fear of that ferocious display overcame all other emotions. So she ran into the darkness, fine skirts trailing behind, leaving him to tend his broken heart, and shattered soul.


	4. Chapter 4

Yep, it's that time again. A new chapter! Yes, I love Four! That last one was a bit of a doozy, eh? Well, I hope you enjoy it and all. And, I don't own any of the characters, yadda, yadda, yadda and so on and so forth. So take that.

Loss

Christine continued to run blindly through the dark passages, never giving way to the thought that she could become lost. Her mind began to recover from blind panic, and she stopped abruptly. There, to her right, she again heard the sound which had made her pause; soft breathing, close by. She froze in fear, hoping it would pass her by. She heard an echoing clop, then another, and suddenly she was nudged forward from behind. She turned slowly, relieved and petted the soft black muzzle offered to her by the magnificent black Friesian stallion who had gone missing from the opera's stables a few months earlier.

"Othello," she crooned softly, "what are you doing down here, love? I've been worried. We all thought you had been stolen. You were, though. By Erik, I suppose." She sighed wistfully. "How can he live through so much suffering? How can the world be so cruel? Obviously he's a kind man, as he let me go freely." She glanced at the horses gently protruding sides, then looked into his placid, liquid brown eyes. "And you haven't exactly been mistreated either." Othello shook his head vigorously, and she laughed softly. The horse nudged her again with his nose. She giggled, and petted his quivering nostrils. "What, you want me to come with you? Oh, all right, let's go." She laid a hand against his velvety neck, and they walked into the dark.

Meandering through the halls deep beneath the sage she knew so well, Christine suddenly felt drained of all energy after her earlier escapades. She stopped, swaying slightly, and the horse stopped with her. She leaned her weight into him, and he turned his head and nudged her against his side. She looked bewildered, then understood that the horse wanted her to ride.

"Okay, for a little while," she sighed, stepping onto a brick slightly jutted out from the wall and swinging astride. She moved with ease, displaying the years she had spent learning how to ride, after pestering the stable master mercilessly until he let her take lessons. Othello had been purchased shortly after she had arrived at the opera house, and she had fallen in love with the gorgeous stallion. There had never been a day when she had not at least visited the horse, despite her hectic schedule, and she found time to ride at least once a week, until he disappeared. She had missed his noncommittal attitude and gentle nature he so lovingly displayed as she sat between his massive hooves, telling him all her worries as he nuzzled her hair. And mostly, she had missed riding the horse, feeling the pent-up power of tensed muscles sliding under silky skin beneath her. She felt it again now, sitting astride the huge creature. He waited for her to settle on, then continued his journey, his gentle rocking gait lulling Christine into long awaited sleep.

She awoke suddenly when the fluid motion stopped abruptly and Othello nipped her leg. Looking around, dazed for a moment, she realized she was back in the passage behind her room. The mirror, she saw, looked straight into her domain. She was astounded by the thought that Erik could have been watching her always, when she slept, when she ate... when she changed clothing. She blushed crimson, then remembered the kindness with which he had treated her for so long, and how he had opened himself to the quick to her, and quickly dismissed these misgivings as childish. She dismounted, giving her faithful companion a long, fierce hug around his thick neck, and kissed his finely tapered head. She'd forgotten the quiet, strange beauty the horse possessed, and wished she had something to give him.

"Wait," she told him, and slipped across the threshold back into her room. The lamp had gone out, so she lit it, sending warm golden light flooding into every dark corner. She hurried to her armoire and retrieved a tin full of cookies from one of her admirers, and returned to the patient horse.

"Here, these are for you, my rescuer," she said to him, holding out a handful of the sweet biscuits. He nibbled them from her hand, and she fed him more, until the tin was empty. Othello nuzzled her once, then turned and walked away, retreating into the darkness.

Christine watched him fade out of sight, then entered her room quietly, emotions vying for attention in her mind. She was truly frightened of Erik, and lonely with no one to comfort her. She was utterly at a loss; Erik had never been so... difficult before. Above all, Christine felt love for her mysterious Phantom, deep, passionate, and true. Sadness swept over her as she realized the full implications of what had just transpired. Erik thought that she had rejected him; she would probably never see him again. Tears welled in her eyes as she lay on her bed, too exhausted and emotionally drained to sleep. She lay for a long time, weeping silently, until sleep did finally overtake her, covering all thoughts of love and loss in a blessed veil of unconsciousness.

Somewhere deep down below, Erik stalked the vacant corridors, conversing with the impassive, silent walls. "How could she do this to me!" he cried. "Damn it, I love her! Why can't she see past this repulsive carcass which burns in Hell!" he slammed a fist into the bricks, then leaned against them, slowly sliding down the wall until he sat, head cradled in his knees, shaking with silent sobs. Erik spent the remainder of the night this way, thinking of everything he had sacrificed, of how little any of it mattered to anyone, and of the woman who had so recently fled with what remained of his shattered heart.


	5. Chapter 5

Okay, regarding the horse in Chapter Four; just so you all know, I have read the book and I know that the horse is white and is named César, but I happen to like "Othello" better, and black Friesians are my favorite horses, so there. I don't own any of the characters, etc. Just keep reading.

Heartache

Days passed as Christine and Erik both tried to carry on with their lives, each torn to pieces by loss and heartache. Weeks flew by, Time oblivious to human imperfections, and Christine told herself she had imagined everything. She never could really believe that, though, as love for the man in the mask grew with the passing of time. She simply ignored this overpowering feeling, and threw herself into her role as lead soprano for the Opera House.

Not long after, Christine's life took a sudden change. The new patron of the Opera Populaire arrived, and the girl was shocked to discover that he was her childhood sweetheart, Raoul de chagny. She had no chance to speak with him until one evening when he attended a performance of Hannibal. He was just as surprised as she to see his past love at the opera house. After the show, Christine sat in her dressing room, which was filled to the brim with flowers of all kinds from her devotees. Still in her performance gown, she scrutinized herself in the full-length mirror, and whirled in surprise when she heard a knock on the huge oak door.

"Little Lotte let her mind wander," said Raoul as he entered the room. Christine smiled, almost sadly, as she gazed at the man she had loved so long ago, when they were both still children.

"Raoul," she whispered. "It's been so long."

"Too long," he said, sitting next to her on the vanity bench, hugging her tightly, then taking her delicate hand in his own. He softly stroked her slender fingers. "I've missed you so much," he murmured as he kissed her open palm. She gently pulled her hand away. He stared at her, startled and confused for a moment before he stood up abruptly and reached for his coat, which had lain draped over the back of another chair.

"Let's go to supper," he suggested eagerly, suddenly excited. "We shall talk and laugh as we did when we were young."

"I can't," she said quietly. "I've so much to do this evening."

"Such as? Christine, you just delivered the finest operatic performance this city has ever seen. You can relax with me for one evening, I'm sure."

She looked up at him through thick lashes bewilderedly, trying to remember what she had felt for him before, trying to rekindle her first love, and she failed. Sighing, she stood up and went to find an evening gown.

The two left shortly after, completely ignoring the wild party being thrown in the cellars, and dined quietly for hours, catching up on the last ten years of their lives. Christine did speak with the first man she had ever loved, but she never truly heard a word of the conversation; her treacherous thoughts and defiant heart continually turned to the man she had so recently loved and fled, but whom she couldn't get out of her mind.

A dark figure prowled along the corridors in the bowels of the opera house. Strange occurrences had been happening lately, involving broken glassware, frightened ballet girls, and an overall sense of foreboding. Anyone familiar with the opera recognized that its most dangerous inhabitant was restless. Over the course of a few weeks, things got worse; all who dared venture into the dark domains alone returned always with a new scar or broken appendage, testimony to the violence of the masked figure down below. He was heard, at times, yelling at the impassive walls, muttering to himself and cursing Christine. What no one ever heard was the soft weeping Erik allowed himself whenever the sorrow became too much to continue to bear. his life had been irreparably altered by the faithless girl, and he was utterly alone in his despair.


	6. Chapter 6

Yeah, peeps, it's that time again... A new chapter! Hooray! Well, anyway, I really have nothing to say. Enjoy Chapter Six, it's a tough one, I cried when I wrote it, I don't own any of the characters, etc., just read it, okay?

P.S. - I know it's short. Really, really short. Bear with me here.

Tragedy

Paris police filed steadily through the main entrance doors of the Opera Populaire, guns poised and at the ready. Somewhere a whistle sounded, and harsh boots tapped in unison across the tile floors. Christine looked on, fearful and helpless to change anything. She silently slipped away from the crowd of gaping onlookers, passing from shadow to shadow on her way to the cellars. She knew she had to warn Erik before these pursuers found him.

She heard shouting as she raced down a long corridor, bare feet slapping softly against the cold, hard ground. Panting, she came to a corner from which she could see the Phantom's lair. The girl gasped, and covered her lips with her hands to muffle the scream welling from deep within her. She watched in horror, utterly unable to move, as the man she loved was surrounded by murderers with rifles. Shots rang out, and Christine's hands flew to her ears in a futile attempt to block out the sounds which she would her, echoed in her memories, for the rest of her life.

As Erik fell, her own world shattered. She finally did scream when she saw his prone body hit the cold, unforgiving floor, blood blossoming from the wound in his chest. Unable to stand the macabre scene any longer, she slid down the wall that had been supporting her, cradled her head on her knees, an wept until she fell into the exhausted sleep of one who has nothing left to live for.


	7. Chapter 7

Wow. Shocking, wasn't it? Chapter Six, I mean. I wonder if I should just stop the story there. That'd be so cruel, wouldn't it. Okay, I'll keep it going. Just read and review, okay? Or at least read. I don't really care whether you like it or not. I like it. And if you're reading this far, you obviously like it too. Anyway, no owning of the characters, blah, blah, on with the show.

Passion

Christine awoke hours later, disoriented, feeling hot tears running down her face. She touched one gently and watched, fascinated, as it rolled down her slim finger, wondering what had made her cry. In a flash, like lightening searing her mind, like a mental thunderclap, she remembered the terrible scene from the previous night. Gasping, she looked around frantically; she realized she was in her own room.

"Oh, God, it was just a dream," she whispered as she sobbed with relief. She curled up and let herself weep for a while. Suddenly, she sat up. "But if I don't do something, someday it might not be."

She stood and dressed quickly for the day, entirely ready to search out Erik, to speak with him. The moment she opened her door, however, she realized life didn't always care what previous plans she had made.

"Christine, I was wondering when you'd get out of bed," said Meg Giry, Christine's best friend of ten years. "Come on, we've got rehearsal," she prodded, grabbing the girl bu the wrist and pulling her down the hall.

"I - I was going to - I mean, I need..." She sighed, and resigned herself to search for the man she loved later, after she had performed her duties for the day.

The rest of the morning and afternoon passed slowly, despite all the work the young soprano had to complete, as though time were playing a cruel trick on her. By late evening, all of Christine's instructors had given up on her due to her distraction; so, she was excused early and told to try to refocus, though her dismissal merited her a few sullen glares from other weary students. She rushed into her dressing room, changed into a comfortable, silky evening gown, and pried open the mirror that faced her every day, reminding her of what opportunity lay behind its deceptive reflection. She paused for a second at the threshold, then stepped forward into the embracing darkness, letting it enfold her as she unconsciously made a decision which would alter her life forever.

The long black corridors loomed in front of the girl, as if determined to keep her from reaching Erik. She thought she remembered the gloomy passages, though, recalling this lantern and that stone formation from her previous journey. She turned yet another corner, and stopped short as a massive black shape loomed in the darkness in front of her. She took a step backward, ready to flee, when the form nickered gently at her.

"Oh, Othello!" she cried, rushing forward to hug him around his soft, arched neck. "How do you always find me when I need you the most?" The big horse nudged her, and she laughed and held out her empty hands, palms up.

"I don't have any cookies today," she told him. He pushed her again, and she bumped into a large rock in the hallway. "Oh, I see," she said. "All right, I'm getting on." She stepped on the rock and slid onto his broad back. She leaned forward, her long brown curls falling across his silky black mane, and whispered, "Take me to him." Othello tossed his head, and stepped sharply off into the eternal night.

Though it could not have been longer than twenty minutes, the journey seemed to take hours for Christine's troubled mind. She could think of nothing but Erik, hoping he was still there and praying he still cared for her. When the horse finally stopped, she slipped off his side and patted his soft shoulder. The muscles twitched beneath his skin, and Christine kissed his black, velvety nose.

"I love you, you great beauty," she whispered as he turned and walked back into the darkness. Within seconds, he had been swallowed by the blackness of the corridor. She turned and walked in the opposite direction, down a hallway that led to the mouth of Erik's lair. The horse had brought her to the entrance on the opposite side of the sprawling lake, so she didn't need to cross it in the boat like last time. Praising his brilliance once again, Christine went in search of her Phantom.

She found him seated at his pipe organ, mumbling to himself and writing hurriedly on a few pieces of parchment. His back was turned, and he did not see her enter. She walked softly up to him, careful not to let him hear her approaching, and brushed her hand gently across his shoulder. He froze for an instant, then whirled to face her, eyes ablaze behind the porcelain mask. As his gaze rested upon her face, his expression softened for a moment, filled with hope, and a longing that she couldn't quite put a name to; but the fire returned, his glare full of hatred and betrayal, burning into her heart.

"How dare you come here, to my sanctuary, my home? How dare you return to mock me after what you have done?" He whispered low and menacingly, his deep voice reverberating through his chest, carrying the passion of loathing in it.

She stared at him for a moment, silently. When she did not respond, Erik turned away from her and walked across the room. Christine never moved, never took her eyes off the figure of the man whom she cared for so deeply. She was entirely unsure how to handle this situation, after receiving his fiery welcome.

"I thought I loved you," she called after a few moments of oppressive silence. His shoulders stiffened visibly, and he turned his head slightly, as if trying to catch her words. "I thought I did, coming down here to find you a short time ago," she began, crossing the room, moving steadily toward him. " More than anything, I wanted to find you, to speak with Erik, the man who once taught me to listen to the darkness inside rather than shun it. I came here looking for that man, the one I loved, but I found a monster, full of hatred and rage, in his place." She was standing directly behind him now, but he never moved. "Tell me, dark Phantom, what have you done with Erik?"

He turned slowly to look at her, his eyes now cold and unfathomable. "How dare you ridicule me? What right do you have to call me a monster! I rescued you, I nurtured you, I gave you your voice! You betrayed me, spurned my kindness, broke my trust and defiled my love! And you come here to call me a monster? You will never know how much I wanted you - no. How much I needed you, Christine! I broke into pieces that night I watched you run from me! You cannot comprehend the depths of my sorrow."

Her eyes softened as she looked into his own, deep and filled with pain and loss. He could bear her pitying look no longer and began to turn away again. Her hand reached out faster than he could react, and she grabbed his wrist. Without hesitation, she pulled him back around toward her. Softly, tenderly, as if afraid he would pull away, she traced her trembling fingertips up his arms. He tensed, but relaxed slowly under her loving gaze. He sighed almost imperceptibly, then tilted her chin up to take her mouth in his. His kiss was so longing, so passionate and desperate, that Christine realized, startled, that she was the first woman he had ever been with. She wound her fingers through his soft black hair, savoring the moment. Erik broke away, with boundless love reflected in his golden eyes. This time, he sighed deeply, softly kissing her eyelids, and resting his head upon her dark brown curls.

"I love you," he said softly, and the girl could hear the years of loneliness and despair in his voice. She pulled away from him, startled, and said, "Still? After I left you for so long?"

"Christine, forever. I'll love you forever. Nothing will ever change that."

"Good," she whispered, and leaned her head against his chest, "because I can't stop loving you."

He smiled gently, and claimed her mouth again. This kiss was unlike anything Christine had ever known; deep and sweet, full of pain, joy, and seductive promise. His tongue slipped between her parted lips, and she sighed again. He broke away again and looked at her desperately.

"Christine, would you... that is, with me, do you want to...?" He trailed off, looking lost. She seemed confused for a moment, then understood his awkward invitation.

"Yes, Erik, I've wanted it more than you know."

"I doubt that," he said, picking her up as he had twice before, and carrying her to his bed. He lay her down gently, lowered himself next to her, and silently drew the curtains.


	8. Chapter 8

All right, guys, how was that last chapter, eh? I rather liked it. So, anyway, hold on cuz it starts to get ugly. Just so you know. So keep reading, huh? Yay Chapter Eight. I don't own any of the characters, don't sue me, yeah, yeah, yeah...

Betrayal

When Christine awoke, her lover was already gone. She slipped out of his bed and dressed quickly, love and joy making her giddy. She ran back through the corridors, humming softly to herself. Lost in her thoughts, she opened the mirror and slid back into her own room, knowing that she had to get to rehearsal before anyone noticed her disappearance.

Raoul, who had obviously fallen asleep while sitting at her vanity mirror, woke suddenly and looked up as the mirror clicked back into place.

"Christine!" The girl whirled in surprise at his voice; she had not seen his vague form in the darkness of the room. He quickly reached for a lamp and lit it, and she relaxed as she recognized the blonde, blue-eyed figure.

"Oh, Raoul," she sighed unhappily, "what are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? Where have you been!" he cried, taking her hand. "I've looked for you everywhere since you vanished yesterday evening!"

The girl sighed again and glanced at the mirror.

"And that," Raoul said, pointing accusingly at it, "where does that lead?"

"No where. I mean, down to the cellars," Christine said too quickly. "I go there when I need to escape the pressures of life here."

The man glared at her suspiciously for a moment; then, an idea seemed to form behind his clear, crystalline eyes. The liquid blue orbs hardened into ice, and the girl winced at the hatred she saw there. He hastily dropped her hand.

"You were with him, weren't you?" he hissed. "I'd heard rumors... of you and him, but I never believed them. Oh, God, Christine, did you sleep with that... that monster?"

Her own eyes hardened, and a fierce light crept into them. "How dare you!" she screamed at him. "What right do you have to call him a monster when it's pompous, aristocratic idiots like yourself that have condemned him to the life he leads! You and all your spoiled, stupid kind are the true monsters!"

"God in Heaven," he whispered icily, "you love him."

She stared defiantly at him for a few seconds, then looked away from his harsh gaze.

"What does it matter to you, Raoul?" she spat venomously. "I loved you once, but no longer. How could I after what you have become? I am free to choose whom I will!"

"I'll teach you to defy me, you ungrateful slut!" He raised hand and slapped her across the cheek. Tears welled involuntarily in her eyes from the pain, but she continued to stare at him. He was becoming enraged, breath ragged, eyes ablaze. Suddenly, he pushed her down onto her bed, tearing at her skirts. She struggled, tried to scream, beat him off her, anything; but he had one hand pinning her wrists above her head and the other smothering her mouth, his body weight trapping her beneath him. Sensing danger to her life if she continued to fight, she gave up, retreating into the well of forgiving darkness beckoning her from deep within her mind.


	9. Chapter 9

I know, that was pretty tough, right. Sorry, but it was necessary. That was just about the worst thing that happens in the whole story, though. So, keep going. It gets good, I promise. I don't own the characters, don't sue, here's Chapter Nine!

Changes

Christine returned to her senses slowly, hesitantly, as if her mind were loathe to face this new, terrible reality. She lay rigid, breathing softly, staring at the ceiling for a few endless moments, then sat up, face set in an expression of resolve. She grabbed a bag, put several plain dresses and her most treasured belongings into it, and walked stiffly from her room, determined to leave this life and everyone in it behind her. She began to run, almost panicked, her feet bare and silent on the cold floors; she had almost reached a side door, one that would lead to her new life, when a familiar voice called er name.

Christine stopped suddenly, and stood trembling and unmoving as Meg walked up behind, and softly touched her shoulder.

"What's wrong?" she asked gently, concern wrinkling her pretty face. Abruptly, the tears Christine had fought for so long broke free, and she began to sob. Meg, surprised and alarmed, pulled Christine around to face her and hugged her tightly, embracing her for a long time while Christine cried into her shoulder.

"Shh, shh," Meg soothed, running her fingers through Christine's unkempt hair. "It can't be that bad, now, can it?"

"Oh, God, Meg," Christine choked. "It was Raoul, he... he..." She haltingly told Meg what had transpired so few hours ago, and of her plan to run to the French countryside, to forget this life and forge a new one.

"My God, Christine," Meg said, utterly shocked, "we have to tell someone. The police, the managers, something."

"No," Christine said adamantly. "He'll kill me, I know. He won't let me live, I'm too great a liability. If I leave, he can't find me. No one will be able to find me. I'll be safe, I'll be happy again someday."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"No!" Christine said, even more sharply. "You have a wonderful future here. I won't let you give that up for me."

"Christine, you were my best friend when I was an ugly, ungraceful, pathetic excuse for a ballet student. I will not leave you now, when you need me the most."

"What about your mother? She raised both of us. It will be like losing two daughters at once."

"She'll understand. I won't tell her what happened," she added hastily, seeing the stricken look on her friend's face. "If she doesn't approve, I'll just leave without her consent. You're my sister, Christine, in love if not by blood. I refuse to abandon you."

"Oh, Meg," Christine said, beginning to cry again, "how could I live without you?" She hugged the petite blonde girl tightly, then they walked back to Meg's own room to gather her possessions, hands clasped tightly as if to ward off further evil.

Within twenty minutes, the girls had called a carriage and were on their journey to a new life together, far from the world where they had grown up. The trip was long and exhausting, and it was over two weeks later when they finally arrived at the small cottage that Christine's father had owned in the heart of rural France. The pair stood in front of the dilapidated white house, surveying the small, overgrown fenced garden and the now-wild orchards, abundant with fruit.

"Well, it'll take some work, but it's lovely, Christine!" Meg exclaimed, pulling the other girl up the walkway, stepping through weeds that had grown unheeded for almost twenty years. "It's the perfect place for us. We can forget Paris here, and learn to love the country!"

Christine smiled weakly, her mind still utterly emotionless, feeling like a disembodied spirit who had lost its way to the nether world. She vaguely appreciated Meg's cheerfulness, though, and stepped through the doorway after her, crossing the threshold into a new beginning.


	10. Chapter 10

I don't really have anything to say. No character-owning. Don't sue me. Just keep reading. Here's Chapter Ten, ya?

Revelation

The weeks flew by for the pair, Meg continually excited over the smallest things, as her cheerful disposition overcame the harshest oppression. Christine remained withdrawn, rarely speaking, hiding her pain within herself. Life was good to her , though. The fresh air of the country, and the patient, persistent sun gradually lifted her spirits enough that she could bear to face the new days as they came.

The only drawback was Christine's constant illness.

"Christine, are you feeling well?" Meg asked for the several hundredth time in four weeks.

"Just a little sick, Meg. This damned flu. I'm always tired, and i get sick all the time."

"Every morning," commented Meg, her voice blatantly hinting at something. "I can hear you."

"I'm so sorry," Christine said, trying to puzzle out Meg's implied message. "I think it's some kind of chronic illness. it just won't go away. I've tried every remedy I can conjure."

"Christine, there are other causes of morning sickness than the flu, you know," Meg intoned sagely.

"Yes, I know," said Christine slowly, unraveling Meg's string of thought. How had she phrased the affliction? Morning sickness?

"Oh, God, Meg. I could be carrying the Vicomte's child! Oh, please, Lord don't let it be so!" Christine cried, nearly in a panic.

"It's not so bad, Christine. We could pretend that you died, and send the child to him. That way, the baby will have the chance to grow up with a name, a title. He surely couldn't refuse his own blood?"

"Don't you see? He will deny this child. What he did to me, if anyone found out, could ruin him. God, why couldn't this baby be anyone but his?" Her eyes grew wide, and her hand flew to her mouth to muffle her sharp intake of breath at this realization.

"Oh, Mother of God, no, no, no. Meg... this child might not be Raoul's."

"Christine, you mean... there was another man?" Christine nodded sadly. Meg moved closer to her. "And you never told me?" she admonished. "Well, who is it?"

Christine looked up, her soft eyes filled with glistening tears. "It could be Erik's child."

"Erik? Who is Erik? I don't recognize the name."

Christine shook her head forcefully. "This was all a mistake. Everything went so horribly wrong. God, what will I do?"

"Why is it so bad? Why don't you want Erik to be the father?"

"Meg, you know Erik. Only not by that name. No, you only would have ever heard him called the Phantom of the Opera."

"Oh, God, Christine!" Meg said, muffling a scream, her eyes flashing wildly. "You mean, Raoul wasn't the first?"

"No, Meg. Erik was the first."

"I can't believe it's happened to you twice!"

"Oh, no, it wasn't like that. I love Erik, Meg. I have ever since he found me, alone and orphaned at my father's grave. I didn't know it was him then. Or rather, later I didn't know that it was he who had rescued me. Oh, let me start at the beginning." She told her best friend, her adopted sister of her relationship with the mysterious, shadowed man who had taken the roles of rescuer, teacher, angel, and finally, lover. Meg looked at her first in horror, then disbelief, and finally relaxed into an air of grim acceptance.

"Well, she said at last, at the end of the tale, "that still doesn't explain why, if you love him, you don't want him to be the father."

"Meg, I don't plan on ever seeing him again." She sobbed once, resting her forehead on her folded arms. "I've never said that aloud before. I love him so much. It seems as if he is... part of me, removed and made into a different person. He is my dark half, the sections of me that I have kept always hidden, even from myself. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but he makes me face everything about myself that I have avoided for so long. He makes me stronger. Now I've lost him, I feel I shall never be whole again. Even if the child is his, I cannot face him after I've betrayed his love twice. He would never trust me again. And I never even told him goodbye," she whispered, as sorrow welled within her and took possession of her mind vulnerable mind.

Meg put her arms around her friend, comforting her as she always did during Christine's moments of deep sadness.

"I will take care of you," Meg said, and tightened her hold around her adoptive sister. She was quiet, pensive, and let Christine cry long into the evening, knowing someone had to be with her, to comfort her as she shed her sorrows. Meg knew she was the only one Christine had allowed into her new, closed world. Soon there would be another to look after, Christine's child. She would be there for the little one, as she already supported the mother, and life for the three of them would be as joyful as she could make it.


	11. Chapter 11

Okay, I'm feeling charitable today, you can have two new chapters in one day...But that last chapter was shocking, wasn't it? All right, not much to say, here's Chapter Eleven, still don't own the characters, don't sue me, etc. Just keep reading.

Life

Nine months, almost to the day, and eight hours of labor later, Christine gave life to a beautiful blue-eyed, brown-haired baby girl. She smiled sadly at her daughter, knowing there would be no way to ever tell whose child she was. The girl was promptly named Megan, after her aunt, much to her name-bearer's delight.

"Oh, Christine! However shall we know who you are calling when you say Meg?"

"She will always be Megan, and you will forever be my Meg. Two different people, connected in spirit by your names."

Life had begun well for the fragile child, but her mother was not quite through yet. When her contractions continued, Meg told her some startling news.

"Christine, there's another baby."

"What!" the young, exhausted mother cried.

"Don't worry. I've always heard that with twins, the second birth is easier."

Ten more hours later, another girl made her way into the world. This baby, unlike her fair sister, had black eyes and dark hair. Her mother sank back into the bed after eighteen grueling hours of labor.

"Christine," Meg whispered, sadness lacing her voice. Christine's eyes flew open, and she gently took the bundle Meg held out to her, worried about the horrified look on her friend's face.

The new mother looked once at her daughter's face and laughed mirthlessly. "Well, I guess we know who the father is."

Brilliant gold eyes looked up, unfocused, at Christine. How could fate have presented her with such a dark gift? For her face, just like that of her father, was scarred on the entire right side, from just above the eye ridge to right below her lip, extending back almost to her ear. Helpless to defend her second daughter from the cruelty of destiny's joke, Christine named her Serenity, in the hope that her name might help her face her identity. She prayed that the name might protect the girl form feeling the pain of suffering as she grew up.

So time passed quickly for the little family. Too quickly, almost, as Meg had fallen in love with David, the farrier in the nearest town, shortly after the twins were born. At first, Meg refused to think about a family of her own, as she had Christine to look after. After a few weeks, however, Christine had convinced Meg that she would be perfectly fine on her own, and David began courting her. Within two months after the twins' arrival, the two were married. And three weeks before the girls' first birthday, Meg's son, Luke, was born.

All three children seemed to grow before their parents' very eyes. Before Luke's birth, as the twins began to walk, it became clear that they were inseparable. When Serenity took her first steps, Megan had joined her by the next day. They both spoke their first words within moments of each other, and they refused to sleep unless they were together. After Luke's arrival, when he grew old enough to play with the girls, the three bonded as though they were all true siblings. Whenever they ventured anywhere, as they grew older, they walked together, always hand in hand.

By the time Megan and Serenity were six, the twins' connection was obviously something beyond that of siblings, though. It seemed as though they were of one mind, one being, simply using two physical forms. Their guardians watched with joy as they became fine, strong young ladies. Megan was always quiet, reserved, and fair as a winter morning; her eyes were ice blue, and her pale skin accented her light brown, straight hair. her sister, however, took after their father. Serenity was always tall, her skin a darker tone than her twin's, her hair black as ebony, long and curling, and her eyes were deepest black, at the edges, fading into a dark gold in the center. Whenever she became angry, the gold grew more prominent, and her eyes glinted fiercely. But generally, they were soft and filled with endless wonder. She was always strong, bright, and laughing.

The greatest difference n the twins' appearances, however, was always the brilliant white mask that Serenity wore to cover her scared face. It marked her out in a crowd, and she told her mother persistently, when she was very young, that she did not want it. By the time she was four, though, she had come to terms with her fate.

"Mother," her high voice piped one morning in the kitchen, "can we bake pastries today?"

"That's a wonderful idea, Senna," said Megan. She coughed harshly after this, her frail seven-year-old frame shaking with the effort. "May we, Mother, please?"

"Maybe, if we have time," Christine replied absently, looking out the window. "What are you doing out of bed, anyway?"

"Aw, Mamma. I'm always in bed. I never get to play with Senna and Luke anymore." She pouted, lip trembling, eyes liquid, but another bout of coughing wracked her small form.

"You can't play until you're better, and you won't get better without lots of rest and good food. So, you go back to bed and I'll bring you a yummy breakfast, hmm?"

"All right, Mamma," Megan sighed sadly, and trudged back to the twins' shared bedroom, trailing a disheveled-looking teddy bear.

"Mother," Serenity asked, climbing into a chair at the table, "Megan's very sick, isn't she?"

"Well, yes, Senna, but she'll get better in no time, you'll see."

"No, she won't. She's dying." Christine looked at her daughter in horror.

"How could you say that?" she finally whispered. "You love your sister."

"Of course I love her, Mamma. But I know megan as well as I know me. Maybe better. Sometimes, when she coughs, my own chest hurts. Something is wrong inside her. I've seen all the doctors, I know they can't fix her. She knows I know, too. We've talked about it already. She says she's not afraid, because she knows as long as I love her and remember her she'll never really be gone. We decided I should tell you, Mamma. She says she couldn't stand to see you cry."

Christine was crying. She stared in helpless amazement at this seven-year-old, speechless at her perception, and her ability to cope with the situation so gracefully. She dropped the skillet in her hand onto the counter and rushed over to hug her mysterious second daughter.

"Come on," she whispered, taking Serenity's small hand, "let's go talk with your sister. Then we'll all bake those pastries."

They walked hand in hand to the girls' room, and the three laughed and told stories and enjoyed being together for the rest of the long afternoon.


	12. Chapter 12

Aha! I finally get to claim some characters! David, Luke, Serenity, and Megan are all mine! Don't steal them, I'll hunt you down! Anyway, none of the rest of the characters are mine, no copyright infringement, etc. here's Chapter Twelve!

Grief

Rain poured steadily down upon the mourners as the small casket was lowered into the earth. The one of the youngest figures in black stepped forward and dropped a handful of rose blooms, her own favorite flower, into the grave that would harbor her sister for the rest of eternity.

"She always loved the scent of roses," the eight-year-old girl told her mother softly. "Now she'll have them always."

Christine finally lost the battle over her emotions and began sobbing. Meg, tears falling steadily down her cheeks, took her by the shoulders and walked with her to the awaiting carriage. Serenity walked over to stand by Luke, who was staring, lost and forlorn, by the grave that was rapidly being filled with unforgiving earth. She hugged him gently, and stood silently at his side for a moment.

"She never did like the rain, you know," she said finally. "If she were here, she would want there to be sun."

"Don't you miss her?" asked Luke, surprised at his lifelong friend's detachment to the death of her sister.

"Of course, as much as you can miss someone who's really part of yourself. I'd known she was going to die since early last year, and we were ready for it, I guess. But we will always be together, connected by our hearts."

Luke looked at her sideways for a moment, then timidly reached out is hand. She clasped it, and the young pair walked silently away to join their mothers. Just as they reached the carriage, the persistent downpour stopped, and the sun began to burn brightly behind the clouds. Luke looked up, and Serenity smiled.

"Look, Mamma!" she called, "Megan wants us to know she's okay. I can feel her!"

She tugged Luke's arm as she began to run across the spacious, unoccupied lawns of the cemetery, and the children smiled and laughed as they spun around, soaking in the sun's warm rays.

"Senna, come back," called her mother, smiling tentatively through her tears.

The pair stopped spinning, and ran back to their mothers. Christine embraced her daughter warmly, and whispered into her ear. "What would I ever do without you?"

Serenity snuggled into her mother's arms. "You would be very confused, Mamma, since I help you so much to figure things out."

"You're absolutely correct. If you can talk to your sister, tell her I love her very much, and I don't know how I'll live without her."

"She knows, Mamma. She wouldn't want us to be sad. She's happy, wherever she is. She wants you to be happy, too."

"I'll try, Senna. I'll try. Now, into the carriage with you. We have a lot to talk about, the four of us."

When they reached the little cottage, Serenity darted inside to change out of her mourning gown. She came out of her room to find Meg, Luke, and her mother sitting at the same table where Serenity had warned her mother of Megan's impending death.

"Come here," Christine said, patting the empty chair beside her. Serenity climbed into the seat, hands folded in her lap.

"Serenity, there's something I need to tell you," she started abruptly. "Before you were born, I was the leading soprano at the Paris Opera Populaire."

"I knew it!" Serenity yelled. "I always heard you singing when we were little. We knew you must have sang before. You were very good. Why'd you quit?"

"Something happened, which changed my mind about that life. Now, I -"

"What was it? What happened, Mamma?"

"I'll tell you when you're older, maybe."

"Aw, always when I'm older."

"Anyway,I need to know how you would feel about us moving back there."

"To the city! We could live in Paris, with all the wine and parties and beautiful dresses? And the Opera? Would we live there?"

"Yes, and you would be taught choir and ballet, and -"

"I would be in the operas!" she squealed. "Oh, yes, Mamma, yes. Do let's go!"

"So ready to leave your life here, are you? All right, we'll move to the city."

"What about Luke and Aunt Meg and Uncle David," asked Serenity, glancing sideways at her best friend, "will they come too?"

"Yes, of course. I could never leave without them. I love them all dearly."

"I'll resume my roles from before, and I'll get to see my mother again," Meg put in. "David will get a job as a blacksmith there, I assume."

"What about me?" Luke said, breaking his silence. "What will I do?"

"Well, you can get an apprenticeship almost anywhere, I suppose. Or you could learn to play in the orchestra, or -"

"The orchestra? I could play instruments? Violins, and pianos, and clarinets and such? Could I really, Mother?"

"Yes, dearest," Meg replied, trying not to laugh at her son's enthusiasm. "You can do anything you want, really."

He hugged Christine, then his own mother, then sat down next to Serenity. "When do we leave?" he asked.

"As soon as we can pack our belongings." Meg and Luke left shortly, to gather their family's possessions.

"Mamma, can I have a horse when we get there?" Serenity asked suddenly.

"There are stables at the opera. We'll at least teach you to ride. Then we'll see about getting you your own horse." She pulled her daughter's small nose, thinking about Othello, the horse that had carried her so faithfully to Erik. She quickly cut off that dangerous train of thought. She knew that, after almost nine years, he would never forgive her for her second betrayal. She had never even told him she was leaving. She sighed softly, pulling herself out of the past. She walked into her room, packed the same bag she had nine years ago, and prepared to move to a new life in the second time in a decade.


	13. Chapter 13

Okay, I'm sorry I killed Megan. I don't know why I did. But it makes the story more human, you know? Anyway, I don't own any of the characters except for David, Serenity, and Luke. So, here's Chapter Thirteen. Enjoy!

Kinship

The transition to the opera house life wasn't for a moment difficult for Serenity; her outgoing personality and her quick wit drew many of the other students her age to her, despite the unusual appearance of her mask. For the girl's mother, however, it was painful to see all the changes that had occurred since her disappearance. Old friends had left, sets had changed, and even some of the horses Christine had come to love were sold or dead. The first trip to the sables, however, gave her some hope. For Othello, now well into his twenties, was still alive and strong. He neighed joyously as Christine stepped into the barn, and she rushed to hug her loyal friend. She introduced Serenity to him, and the the girls were seen almost every evening with the horse and his foals, enjoying their time together, riding double on the big stallion's back and laughing.

So, with only a few weeks of training and a few pulled strings, Christine slipped seamlessly back into her previous life, and her daughter followed suit as though she had been born for the drama of the stage.

The years passed by quickly, one season blending into the next. Time was marked only by the passing of shows through the opera house; any given play ran for about two months. Serenity flourished in her new life, learning ballet quickly and proving herself a talented natural vocalist. She gathered many friends, but remained completely loyal to her best and longest friend, Luke.

Luke also adapted to his role in the Opera Populaire, if a bit more hesitantly. He had always been shy, but his curiosity for learning, his passion for instrumental music, and persistent persuasion from Serenity finally paid off, as he became the fastest and most brilliant orchestra pupil of any age. He could play almost every instrument he was presented with, ranging from oboe to cello to baritone. Serenity adored listening to him practice the musical scores to the current operas, and often sang her parts with him as he played. The two were inseparable, save during rehearsals and private tutoring, and were often seen walking side by side down some dark corridor in the cellars when they were young, exploring their vast new world together.

Time passed however, and as it is wont to do, separated the two, on the basis of propriety and growing feelings of awkwardness as they entered their teenage years. By the age of fifteen, the pair were rarely seen together, though they remained close friends.

Serenity began to enjoy her lessons less and less as she grew into a stunning young woman; the girl was pressured into becoming the next star, as her mother had been before her. She had taken to abandoning her lessons, and dodging her instructors, to explore the expansive subterranean cellars. When she was thirteen, she had stumbled upon what seemed like some kind of lair; it had not been touched for years. Serenity felt an immediate connection to the place, and she could not resist teaching herself to play the massive pipe organ she found there. So for three years, she practiced and played; it came naturally to her. By the time she turned sixteen, she was composing her own music. She never told anyone, not even Luke, but continued to play for herself, for the passion of the music she loved.

So she composed, and she played, and it wasn't until three weeks after her sixteenth birthday that anyone discovered her secret obsession.

She had walked into the cavern as usual after abandoning a vocal rehearsal when a mysterious shiver shot up her spine. Looking around warily, she noticed that some of her music sheets were on the ground, as if they had been hastily put down when she walked in. Anger blossomed inside her at the blatant intrusion upon her secret territory, and she spun around, fuming, and called, "Why are you here?"

There was no answer for a long, oppressive moment.

"Are you such a coward that you would hide form a girl in a dress? Show yourself!"

"I am not afraid," a deep, very masculine voice replied calmly from just behind her left shoulder. "A bit curious, perhaps, as to why you are here."

"Why am I here! " she cried, whirling to face the man but finding empty air. "This is my lair! No one else knows it exists!"

"I fear you are mistaken, youngling," he stated, "for this lair belongs to the Phantom of the Opera."

"What are you talking about," the girl asked, incredulous. "What Phantom?" she spat.

"Oh, surely you know him. He lived here long ago, and he left for many years. Some say, even now, that he has returned."

" I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Truly you do! If it were not so, you would not mock him now by wearing that on your face," he said, anger edging into his voice.

"What, the mask?" Serenity asked, shocked. "This is my own. I have worn it as long as I can remember." Fire began to seep into her own voice. "So how dare you mock me?"

"You fool!" cried the figure who walked out from behind the massive set of pipes behind the organ keyboard. The girl gasped and took a step toward the masked man, amazement written upon her face. He stopped suddenly, but she continued to move toward him.

"Why..." she paused, searching for words. "Why do you have this?" she whispered, putting a hand up, as if to touch the porcelain, then pulling it away quickly.

He stared straight into her eyes. "I was born... deformed," he stated darkly. He had no idea why he was telling this stranger his life story. "My own mother could not bear the sight of me, so I was given a mask to cover ny hideous face." He sighed softly.

"Oh, God. Like this?" the girl said, abruptly removing her own mask.

The man took a step backward, is eyes filled with amazement, and pity. "God have mercy," he whispered. She replaced the mask, and glanced up at him.

"My mother gave me my mask, too, but it was to protect me from what others might say if they saw my true face. I couldn't imagine growing up without my mother's support."

"Your... mother," he said slowly, noticing her features for the first time. The mask, the gold-flecked eyes, the ebony hair, her height... "Who is she?"

"Christine, monsieur. Christine Daae." She saw something flicker in his gaze.

"And your father?"

The young woman averted her eyes suddenly. "Mamma never speaks of him, and I don't ask. As far as I know, he doesn't exist."

"And, your name?"

"Serenity, sir, but everyone usually calls me Senna." She glanced up at him again, her eyes showing a bright, calculating look. She seemed to have been puzzling over something, and to have decided that she had found the correct answer. "And you, sir?

The man sighed again. "Erik," he said finally.

"Ah. I'm glad to have met you, though you claim to have rights to my sanctuary, 'Phantom of the Opera'."

"Yes," he said quickly, "this is where I lived more than sixteen years ago. Something happened, which changed my mind about this life." Serenity quickly noted that her mother had said the exact same thing eight years earlier. "I left. I never planned on coming back, but I never could forget the life I led here, safe and deep underground, creating dark music. Something seems to be calling me back." He stopped speaking, for the girl was giving him the calculating look again.

"Monsieur," she said after a few seconds of silence, "I believe I am your daughter."

He sighed softly. "Yes, I know. What gave it away?"

"Our appearances, the masks, the passion for music. Mostly the masks."

"Yes, I thought so. God," he said, sitting down hard on the organ bench, "how could she not have told me? Damn it Christine! She ran off, without a word, and I could not find her! A daughter! Sixteen years! And I never knew. Merciful God," he whispered.

Serenity sat down next to him quietly and hesitantly took his hand. He looked up at her, surprised, but permitted the familiarity. "There were two of us, actually. Two daughters. Twins," she said quietly. He looked at her again.

"Twins?" he said, shocked. She nodded.

"Yes. But Megan died when we were eight. She had an illness no one could cure."

"Oh, God," Erik half-sobbed, voice filled with sorrow, "a child who died before ever I knew she lived."

"It's all right," Serenity said gently. "We're still connected in spirit. I can sense her; I know she still lives in me." She smiled softly. "Mamma and I have gotten over the loss."

"Your mother," he said, so many emotions lacing his voice that Serenity could not tell them apart. "I suppose I need to speak with her." He stood up, and turned to look at his child. "I would prefer if you stay here."

"I understand," she said, and turned to face her beloved keyboard. "Be gentle!" she called as she heard her father walk away. "She still loves you!"

He paused for a second, then walked over the threshold, to face the woman he had not been able, for sixteen infinite years, to push out of his mind and heart.


	14. Chapter 14

Oh, I love a good intrigue. That's why I write. So, keep reading, my good people! I own none of the characters except David, Luke, and Serenity, as of yet. Happy reading! Here's Chapter Fourteen.

Confrontation

Erik's thoughts swam in turmoil as he stormed through the maze of corridors he had not set foot in for over sixteen years. A daughter! Two daughters! And Christine had left so suddenly. She had not even thought to tell him goodbye. Now, he had returned to find her already here, with a child he had fathered suddenly jutting into his life. And what a child! Every bit as beautiful as her mother, but with a dark, mysterious beauty that penetrated through her skin. Long, curling black hair cascading to her waist, a tall, slim figure, and those eyes. Such eyes, brightest gold, flecked with darker copper in the center. Portals to her soul, windows which she left unashamedly open for anyone to look and see her true self. She was so intelligent, so passionate, and so perceptive. Erik had only spent five minutes with the girl, but already he knew all this, and he felt a kinship with her. He could scarcely believe she was his. These thoughts, deep and filled with pain, curiosity, and something he had not yet fathomed swirled in his mind as his long strides devoured the darkness.

Erik found his love in the same room she had used so many years before; the one with the trapdoor mirror. Her head snapped up as she heard it slide open, her eyes filling with tears and disbelief as she watched her lover, lost so many years ago, walk silently back into her life.

"Erik," she sighed. She stood up and walked to him, passion, love, and joy mingling in her gaze. He glared at her coldly.

"Christine," he said almost cruelly, scorn edging his voice. She drew back, startled.

"Erik, what? I -"

"How could you not tell me?" he demanded.

"What? When I left you? There was no time, everything happened so fast..."

"My daughters, Christine! Two daughters were born to me, to us, children who should have inherited my name! Now one is lost, and I will never know her, never see her laugh or cry, never hear her voice!"

"Who told you?" she whispered sadly.

"It does not matter. Christine, even the daughter who lives is a complete stranger to me. She is my flesh and blood! I had a right to know of their existence!"

"I did not know I was pregnant, obviously, until after I had fled. I never thought I would return here, until Megan died. I thought it would be best if neither you nor the children knew of each other's identity. It seemed it would be easier for all of us if you did not know, since you would never have been able to see them."

"God, Christine, had I known, had I even the slightest idea where you went, I would have come to you! I searched for months for you! No one had seen or heard from you. It was as though you had truly vanished!"

"You... would have come to me? After my second betrayal?"

He sighed deeply. "Did I not once tell you I would love you forever? I do not take such vows lightly."

"Oh, Erik," she whispered, and began to weep. The loneliness, the longing of the last sixteen years finally broke through, and the sadness of what she had lost overwhelmed the woman. She sat down again on the bench, and covered her face with her hands.

Erik watched her quietly, taking her in her mature beauty. She was much the same as she had been so long ago; slim figure, delicate hands, long brown curls, brown eyes flecked with copper. Her face, though, had turned from youthful innocence to the wizened look of a woman who had seen the hardships of the world. Finally he permitted himself to glance at her lips, the taste of them lingering long past a decade. He desperately wanted to claim them even now.

After a few minutes of silence, he sighed again and sat down next to her, pulling her into his embrace. He kissed her forehead, and leaned his own head on hers. She pulled away slightly to look at him, as he bent slowly to kiss the tears on her cheek. She put her fingers on his unmasked cheek, and sighed softly as he captured her mouth. They kissed tenderly, gently, the love lost over sixteen years finding its way back into their hearts. The pair sat together for hours, talking quietly about their lives; except one dark secret, the reason Christine had fled, which crouched at the corner of her mind and gave her no peace.


	15. Chapter 15

Yay, something good finally happened! Well, keep on truckin'! ahem I mean, reading. Here's Chapter Fifteen, people! I own none of the characters except Serenity, Luke, David, and Megan. (And Jaques and Angelique, but shh! You don't know about them.) Happy reading!

Pursuit

So Erik slipped quietly into the lives of his lover and daughter. Serenity thought her mother seemed infinitely happier, and soon discovered that missing her father for sixteen years made no difference at all, as he stepped into the role as if he had been there since her birth. The two spent most of their free time together, with or without Christine, and within a few weeks an unbreakable bond was forged between them. Since almost the beginning, Serenity had called the man Papa, as he seemed to be connected to her, and all awkwardness was lost in their closeness. Erik loved that his child showed such interest and talent in music, and Serenity's thirst for instruction was sated by her father.

Serenity's favorite pastime, however, was still composing. Erik read her works, sometimes offering suggestions, and occasionally the two would write a piece together. These collaborative works were usually the best, and Serenity would sit for hours at the pipe organ playing their music.

There was trouble in this blissful life, though. Raoul de Chagny had returned to the theater after having left it in the care of his cousin for almost a decade. He had traveled to America, with his wife of six years, and his two young children, Jaques and Angelique. He had married a noble Englishwoman abruptly only a few weeks after Christine left, and his first child had been born prematurely, so Jaques was one month older than Serenity. Angelique was born a year later, but her mother died during childbirth. So, Raoul returned to Paris a widower, with a sixteen-year-old son and a a fifteen-year-old daughter. He was shocked and not at all pleased to hear that Christine had returned, but he dared not react immediately, lest he raise suspicion.

So life continued, and Erik's family, especially young, pretty Serenity, avoided the de Chagny's as much as possible. Jaques was tall and handsome, but arrogant, mean-spirited, and suggestive toward toward Serenity. She was sure he wanted to court her. The very idea made her shudder in repulsion. And Angelique was petite and very pretty, but her lovely face was marred by the cruelty that glinted from her cold eyes. The younger girl took every opportunity to mock Serenity about her mask, her appearance, her parents. Serenity felt that one day someone would simply snap and break her perfectly sculpted neck.

"Ah, Senna," she sneered as Serenity encountered her in the halls a few days after her seventeenth birthday. "Celebrated a birthday recently, did we? What did you get, a new mask to hide your hideous face?" She laughed coldly, and Serenity shouldered past her roughly and kept walking.

"Oh, yes," Angelique called, "just run to mommy and daddy, they'll make it all better, love." Her voice dripped sarcastic, false concern. Serenity refused to bait the pathetic girl. She turned a corner and abruptly ran into a tall figure.

"Serenity," said a deep voice, "what a pleasant surprise." She looked up into Jaques' wide, fake smile. He placed his hands on her shoulders. She shrugged them off angrily and spun around, attempting to break out of his hold. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to him so she was standing against his chest, arms next to her head in his grasp, his face inches from her own. He leaned forward until their lips almost touched and whispered, "There, now, this isn't so bad."

"Jaques," she said calmly, eyes suddenly hot and flashing, "get your hands off me."

"Or what, mon petite?" he laughed. "You'll sic your terrifying father on me?"

She glared at him fiercely, then grabbed one of his fingers and twisted it quickly, before he could react, until she heard and felt the bone snap. He released her, cursing, and she turned and ran.

He stared at her retreating figure, his hooded eyes dark with fury. "I will have you," he hissed, and stalked off to seek medical attention, his finger sending stabbing pains lancing through his arm.

Serenity kept running until she came upon the closest familiar doorway, the complex of rooms that belonged to Meg and her family. She darted in the door, startling the figure lying on the bed.

"Senna," Luke cried, sitting up. "What are you doing here?"

"Shh!" she hissed. "Hiding."

"From whom?" he said quietly, exasperated. She was always running from one trouble or other.

"Jaques," she told him, turning to look at her best friend. She noticed he had no shirt on, and shivered in delight. Then she was shocked to realize that she had shivered at all. Gathering her scattered thoughts, she mumbled, "He... pursued me again."

"What did you damage this time?" Luke sighed.

"I broke his finger."

"Oh God, Serenity! What did he do?"

"Before or after I broke it?"

"Both, I suppose."

"Oh. Before, he caught me coming around a corner and managed to pull me against his chest. After, he let me go and cursed a bit."

"One of these days, Senna, you're not going to be able to get away from him. If he takes... advantage of you, you'll be forced to marry him, you know. Propriety demands it."

"Oh, God in Heaven!" she cried. "Don't say that! Don't even think it!"

"It's true. I couldn't bear it if you ended up with him. I just -" He stopped abruptly.

"What?" Serenity said softly.

"Serenity, I've wanted to tell you something for a long time. I've thought about it for years, but I can't find any other way to say it than being blunt. Senna, I'm in love with you."

"Oh," she laughed gently. "I already knew."

"What?" he said, incredulous.

"Well, everyone always tells me how perceptive I am. Let me see, you first began to care for me when you were about... thirteen?"

He stared at her, speechless. Finally, he nodded. "Yes, the first time I saw you playing the pipe organ, in the cellars."

"You followed me?" she yelled. "And you never told me?"

"Serenity, I love the passion of your music. Your face, your eyes... You seem to lose yourself in the song. I could hear it, too, the wildness, the longing, everything. Sadness, joy, pain, love; emotion fills every note, makes the music more real than I've ever felt. I've never heard anyone play like you. If you knew I was there, it all would have been different."

"Yes, you're right," she said finally. "I knew something about you had changed, then. You... became distant, awkward. I hardly saw you anymore. I missed you," she said softly. She walked to the bed and sat down next to him. He turned and hugged her warmly, and she felt a thrill at touching the bare skin on his shoulder blades.

"I missed being close to you, too," he told her. "Emotionally, I mean," he added quickly, seeing the glint in her eyes, realizing abruptly that he wasn't fully clothed.

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him, gently, on his parted lips. His shock rapidly gave way to pleasure, and he kissed her back, fiercely, putting his hands on her back and waist, pulling her closer to him. Serenity broke the kiss and opened her eyes to look into Luke's green gaze, and she ran her fingers through his spun-gold hair. She laughed again softly, and lay her head against his bared chest. "I love you, too, Luke. I've waited for three years for you to admit your feelings to yourself. You certainly took long enough! Now, didn't you say that if Jaques took advantage of me I'd be forced to marry him?"

"Yes," he said warily.

"Well, who says it has to be Jaques?" she asked innocently, and pushed him teasingly down onto the bed, kissing him again.


	16. Chapter 16

Aww, how cute is that? I suppose I should stop commenting on my own work. Too bad, can't stop me, hahahaha! Anyway, on with the show! I mean, Chapter Sixteen! And I own none of the characters but Serenity, Luke, David, Megan, Jaques, and Angelique.

Proposal

Serenity and Luke began to see each other much more often. They were frequently sighted walking together, hands clasped, talking quietly and laughing.

On a day not long after Serenity had found her way into Luke's room, he asked her to walk with him to a local park, where they spent the afternoon wandering through the gardens.

"Why have you brought me here?" Serenity asked him abruptly.

"To enjoy your intriguingly uplifting personality," he answered quickly, in mock seriousness, glancing sideways at her."

"Most assuredly. But you can bask in that any time. You have a reason for coming here. Don't fool yourself. I know you better than you know you!"

"You're right, as always," he said, pulling her into the rose garden, a crescent-shaped alcove filled with the soft, sensual fragrance of the roses sprawling uninhibited over the grounds; blooms flourished in dozens of shades of spectacular colors: crimson, white, orange, yellow, pink, and a deep purple that bordered on black. Luke plucked one of these, one of the truly black blossoms, perfectly balanced between bud and full bloom. He handed it to her as she sat delicately on the vacant bench, her silky blue skirt sliding across her trim legs.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, looking at him lovingly.

"You're beautiful," he told her. She blushed softly, saying, "Oh, how cliché." Luke laughed softly and kissed her. "Did I ever give you a birthday present?" he asked suddenly.

"No, I don't believe you did, my good sir," she teased, merriment in her eyes. "Did you forget already? Do I matter so little to you? This does not bode well for our relationship. I shall, however, forgive you if you fall upon your knees and beg for my most gracious mercy!"

He rolled his eyes at her. "I asked, dearest one," he mocked back, tapping lightly on her porcelain mask, "because I have one for you now."

"I really think I should prefer the groveling." She looked at him bewilderedly as he bent upon one knee. "Oh, really, I was kidding, Luke. Please get up before you ruin your -" She trailed off as he took her left hand into his right one as he retrieved a small box from inside his coat. She stared at it in shock; he calmly gazed at her, eyes filled with adoration.

"You have no idea how long I've dreamed of doing this," he said after a moment, as tears welled in her eyes.

"Senna, love of my life, would you do me the honor of wedding me?" He opened the box to reveal a silver ring; a sapphire, Serenity's favorite stone, sat between two delicate diamonds that twinkled merrily in the afternoon sunlight. Here hand flew to her mouth, and she laughed through her tears. She went down on her knees in front of him and put her hands on either side of his head, kissing him passionately for a long moment. She broke away finally, looked at his hopeful face, and broke out into peals of brilliant, joyful laughter.

"Yes!" she giggled. "Yes, of course, Luke! You should have known I was only waiting for you to ask! It's either you or Jaques, in any case."

Luke smiled and kissed her again, then stood up and pulled her after him. He slid the ring on her hand, and it fit perfectly onto her slim finger. Serenity noticed the perfection of the fit, and hoped it was an omen for the happiness of their marriage. Luke grabbed her waist, picked her up, and spun with her as the two had done in the cemetery so many years before. As it had all those years ago, the sun shone brilliantly, and Serenity laughed brightly, smiling down at her fiancée. He set her down, kissed her quickly, and the two walked slowly, hands joined, back to the Opera House.

"Wait," Serenity said as they walked back to her room, "have you asked my father for my hand? He is the kind of man who will demand tradition. I know him." She smiled. "I almost am him."

"Yes, Senna, I asked him. He also said it had taken me long enough to come to my senses. I didn't tell your mother, though. I thought you might want to be the one to share the news."

"Thank you," she whispered, and kissed his cheek. She turned and ran down the halls to Christine's room.

"Mamma!" she yelled, bursting through the door. Christine jumped and looked up, startle. She saw Serenity's smile and her tension eased slightly.

"Serenity, don't do that!" she cried. "You scared me half to death, again!"

"Mamma, it was worth it this time."

"You said that when you were ten and you lost your front tooth. And when you were thirteen and you kidnapped that crippled monkey from the Gypsies."

"Yes, but believe me, this is better!" she said anxiously.

"All right, what is it?" Christine sighed.

Serenity regained her composure, straightened her shoulders, and looked at her mother, eyes gleaming.

"Luke proposed to me," she said calmly, after a long pause, holding out her left hand. The sapphire sparkled brightly.

"What?" Christine screamed, and leapt up to embrace her daughter. "I'm so happy for you! You said yes, of course?"

Serenity laughed, eyes dancing. "Of course! He's so wonderful. He loves me, despite the mask. And he's so sweet and she and handsome and... just wonderful." She sighed and sat down. "I'm getting married," she whispered, surprise and joy in her voice. "So strange, that I'll be wed before you."

Christine's eyes hardened, but she looked happily at her child. She sat down next to her, and the pair discussed plans for the future ceremony late into the evening.


	17. Chapter 17

Well, I have nothing to say, really. It's kind of self-explanatory. So, here's Chapter Seventeen. After this, three more chapters. Almost done! Hang in there. I own none of the characters except Serenity, Luke, Megan, Jaques, Angelique, and David. The end.

Abduction

The sun had long set, sending shadows creeping through even the outer, windowed halls before Serenity said good bye to her mother and headed for her own room. She was longing to speak with Luke again. Perhaps, now that they were engaged, she could find her way into his chamber during the night without fear of being caught and scorned. The thought made her smile, and she changed course, heading for her fianc's room in place of her own. Fate boded ill for her, however, as she happened to encounter Jaques in one of the corridors.

"Well, well, Princess," he drawled, "imagine us meeting here. Running off to little Luke, are we?"

"Jaques, I really don't have the patience for dealing with you," she spat, attempting to brush past him. He reached out and grabbed her left hand, inspecting the new ring in the candle light.

"So it's true. You are engaged to that... peasant! When you could have had me!"

"God, Jaques, you will never understand. Not everything can be bought with gold; my love least of all."

"I may not be able to buy your love, Princess," he sneered, pulling a drenched cloth from his pocket and smothering her mouth and nose, "but I can take it!"

Serenity screamed, the sound muffled by the rag, and struggled to break away from his grasp, to escape the stinging vapors that burned her throat and eyes. As hard as she fought, she could not get free, and her last sight before vision swam and darkened, was of Jaques pulling the ring off her unresisting finger and throwing it on the ground in the cold darkness.

Several hours later, Luke had noticed Serenity's absence. She had never disappeared without telling him, in all the years he had known her, and recently they had always met for dinner late in the evening. It was now approaching midnight, and he had not heard from her. He felt something was wrong; grabbing a lantern, he searched the opera house for his fiancé;.

Two hours later, Luke walked down the same hallway from which Serenity had been abducted. He almost passed the fateful scene, until the light glinted off something in the shadows. When he found the ring, discarded carelessly in the dark, Luke knew he needed help; he was now sure someone had taken Serenity, and he had a good idea of who it was. Without hesitation, he woke her father, and explained the situation hurriedly.

"Serenity's been taken," he said abruptly.

"What?" Erik exclaimed. "By whom?"

"I have every reason to believe it was Jaques." Fire lit in Erik's eyes as he thought about the son of the man he had come to hate.

"How dare he take my daughter!" Christine heard Erik's muffled curses and walked into the room, dazed by sleep.

"What's happened?" she asked.

"Jaques de Chagny has our child!" Erik yelled.

"God, no!" Christine was instantly awake, thinking of how her own life had been shattered by a de Chagny.

"Christine, what is it?" Erik said more calmly, seeing the pained, haunted look in her eyes. She said nothing, but glanced at Luke, her eyes filled with tears.

"Luke, could you please -"

"I'm already gone," he replied and walked quietly out the door.

"Christine, if this involves Serenity in any way, you have to tell me. Is she in danger? Do you believe Jaques will harm her?"

"I don't know," she sobbed, "but his father..." She trailed off, looking helpless.

"What?" Erik pressed.

"That night, before I left. The night I chose to love you," she began softly, finally telling the story she had kept secret for almost twenty years, "Raoul found out. I don't know how, but I had hardly stepped back into my room when he cornered me. He was furious, that I had chosen you over he. He - he forced me. I couldn't do anything. Had I fought, he could have killed me. He raped me, and he left." She began sobbing, and Erik held her tightly in his arms. "I didn't know what to do. I ran," she mumbled into his chest. "Meg caught me, and decided to come with me. We left. For nine years. I could not find the courage to return. When Megan died, I finally realized that my children deserved a better life than what I had given them. So, I brought Serenity here, and we found you. But Erik, I never stopped loving you."

"Merciful God," he whispered. He kissed the top of her head, dazed by the implications of what she had just told him. He pulled her up, to look fiercely into her eyes. "I'll kill him. I swear this to you. And if Jaques has done anything to my daughter, I'll kill him as well."

"Erik, no. You - you can't. You'll be caught, you'll be taken from me. Erik, I couldn't live without you now. Don't make me go through that again."

"Don't worry over me," he said, voice and eyes hard. "I'm going to fetch our daughter." He stalked out of the room, and was joined by Luke in the corridor. Neither man spoke, seeing the anger burning in the other's gaze, and they walked quickly, silently into the darkness, hungry for revenge.


	18. Chapter 18

Oh ho, intrigue, eh? I love it. Well, what are you waiting for? Read Chapter Eighteen! After this, two more! Almost... there... So, I own only Serenity, Jaques, Luke, Angelique, David, and Megan. Don't sue me or nothin', okay? I thought so.

Retribution

Luke walked with Erik to his lair, where both men claimed a few items. Luke left with a pistol in his hand, a dagger stuck into his boot, and several other weapons lay concealed on his body. Erik, however, took only a lantern of his own, the small, tightly coiled Punjab lasso, and his sword.

"Wait here," he told Luke. "I'll return within the hour." The fire of anger and the ice of passionate loathing merged in his voice and eyes, and the boy knew better than to argue. Father, lover, composer or not, this man was still the unpredictable, murderous Phantom of the Opera. At this moment, both men were glad of Erik's past.

Within moments, his furious pace carried him through the empty halls; it was too late, too dark, too eerie for anyone else to be out. He silently picked the locks to a large, double-door entryway, slid into the ornate room, and closed the door behind him. He heard a rustle of bedcovers, and a familiar voice spoke in the blackness.

"Who's there?" Raoul demanded, only a hint of fear lacing his voice. Erik lit a match, and watched it burn steadily for a few seconds before lighting the lamp. When his face showed in the dancing light, he heard Raoul's breath become more ragged, almost imperceptibly faster.

"Get up," Erik growled, voice low, quiet, and dripping menace. "Get dressed, and grab your sword, if you wish the opportunity to die as a man."

"What is this? You cannot kill me! You would be caught, arrested! Get out of here!"

"Get up, or I will kill you now, as a man slaughters a beast. This is your last chance, Vicomte," he spat.

Raoul glanced at him, eyes dark, as he fumbled in the half-light for his clothing. In a few moments he was dressed, a decorative blade flashing in his right hand.

"Now," Erik said, voice drenched in hatred, "do we take this outside or fight here, in your very bedroom? Tell me, Vicomte, is this where you committed such atrocity against my lover, or did you simply take her where she stood, like a rutting pig?"

"What are you talking about, monster?" Raoul's eyes danced in fear and loathing. He broke into a fine sheen of sweat, looking at the man who meant to take his life.

"Christine, you bastard!" Erik raged. "God, you don't even recall, do you? You took her life away, and so ruined mine; you tore us apart, and you don't even remember!"

"Christine? I haven't dealt with the whore in years!"

Erik, eyes blazing, the promise of death hovering around his imposing form, lunged forward and grabbed the shorter man by the throat with one hand. Not displaying the slightest strain, he lifted Raoul's feet clear of the ground, pulling him up to eye level. Raoul struggled, eyes wide, clawing at Erik's arm, choking.

"You raped her," Erik stated with unfathomable calm. "She may learn to forgive you, but I cannot. Now your son has taken my daughter. I also cannot forgive that. I should have killed you long ago. None of this ever would have happened." He threw Raoul down on the floor, where the Vicomte lay gasping for air, color slowly returning to his pallid features.

"Get your sword," Erik said, and turned his back on the panting figure. Raoul raised himself up and grabbed his weapon. Without hesitation, he leapt up and lunged forward, blade pointed between Erik's shoulders. Erik heard the sword sing as its blade parted air, and turned to avoid the treacherous blow. The killing stroke missed, glancing off his left arm, cutting smoothly through cloth and flesh. Erik hissed as cold air hit the wound. It bled freely, staining his white sleeve crimson.

"Traitor!" he bellowed, spinning to face the ragged man. Erik clutched his lasso and uncoiled it, glaring fiercely at Raoul.

"I gave you one last chance," he said softly, with ineffable calm, "and you could not even find the integrity to fight to the death with honor. I cannot convince myself to spare you any longer."

Raoul looked around in the sudden darkness wildly. The flame had blown out, leaving the room almost completely black. With a soft whistling noise, the thin rope settled perfectly around his neck. He clutched at it, but it was tightening quickly, the line drawing taut, until he could not breathe, could not think, could not see, or feel, or hear. His feet railed uselessly a few inches above the floor.

Erik tied the rope securely as his lifelong enemy ceased to struggle, hanging from the exposed rafters. He glanced at the man once, a flicker of something akin to sadness flashing in his eyes, and somberly made the sign of the cross in the air in front of him. Then he left the room quickly, locking the door behind him.

Within moments, Raoul was dead and Erik stalked the echoing corridors with Luke, sword still in hand, with a pistol hanging at his side. It was four o'clock in the morning, and though the skies remained dark and infinite, a whisper of dawn rode the soft winds.

Neither man knew where to find Serenity. Within two hours, the entire opera house would be animated, bustling with life. And potential witnesses. The two spoke little, and headed deeper into the recesses of the massive grounds, looking for a woman whom both men had grown to love.


	19. Chapter 19

Oh, the plot thickens! And... YES! I GOT TO KILL RAOUL! Okay, that was quite possibly the happiest moment of my life. Except when I got asked to Prom... Ah, well. Come on, you know you want to keep reading. Get to it! Final two chapters! Yes! Read Chapter Nineteen! I own none of the characters but my creations, yeah yeah. Ready, go!

Revenge

Serenity woke hours after she had been kidnapped. She looked around wildly, but saw only blackness. Feeling the panic rising, she wondered briefly where she was, but her thoughts switched immediately to finding a way to escape. Wherever she was, Jaques was sure to have locked her in. She felt her way across the room, and guessed it was only about as big as her mother's, the one with the mirror. So it had to be along a corridor, if it was a bedroom. She felt for the door, and shortly found the handle. It was locked, as she had guessed.

She sat back down, and wondered what to do. If she just stayed here, Jaques would return for her; she knew she couldn't face him again yet. Minutes ticked by as she sat this way, contemplating her limited options. Finally, after almost an hour of silence, the sound of hushed voices and soft footfalls echoed down the hallway outside the door. Serenity recognized the men by sound.

"Papa! Luke!" she cried, beating her open palms against the door. "Please help me," she breathed softly as something metal rattled in the lock. Within seconds, the door was open and Serenity was hugging her father fiercely. He embraced her almost desperately then pulled away to gaze into her face.

"Where's your mask?" he said quietly. Shocked, she touched her right cheek and felt flesh. Luke reached out and took her fingers, kissing them gently.

"I don't know. Jaques must have taken it." Tears welled in her deep, troubled eyes. Luke held her closely and kissed her eyelids. "Don't worry," he whispered. "When this is over, we'll get you another."

"How can you not know? What happened?" Erik demanded.

"I... he - I was unconscious. He used something, some kind of burning liquid, and I blacked out. I woke here, about an hour ago."

"Where is he?" Luke asked.

"I don't know. He left me here. I don't know for how long, and I don't know what he planned to do with me. Or what he's already done with me." She shuddered and Luke's arms tightened protectively around her. A strange light illuminated her eyes, and Serenity shrugged off Luke's hold.

"I'll kill him," she heard Luke whisper, almost inaudibly. But she spun around and raced down the corridor. Startled, the men called after her, but she refused to stop, so they followed her. She ran on and on, down a path more familiar to her than the layout of her own bedroom.

She jerked around a corner and stopped abruptly. Anger seemed to radiate from her slim form. Her eyes blazed, and her fingers curled into her palms.

"What did you do?" she screamed at the figure lazing on the bench where she had played music for so many years. She had known she would find the pretentious braggart here, among her father's possessions, trespassing upon her memories.

"Ah," he laughed coldly,"awake so soon, Princess? I thought I still had hours until you came around."

"What did you DO?" she yelled, voice cracking with rage.

"No need to shout. I took only what I deserve." He smiled, the flashy, icy grin of a predator.

"You deserve nothing more than to be reduced to a rotting corpse," Erik hissed as he stepped out from around the corner, shadowed by Luke. Both men brandished their weapons. "Now, child," he spat, "I give you the same option as your father. Pick up your sword and fight me honorably, or die now."

"My father?" Jaques paled, then flushed angrily. "What have you done?" he yelled.

"He, too received nothing more than his actions merited," Erik replied coldly.

"You killed him?" Jaques screamed. Erik said nothing, but his gold eyed flashed in the pale candle light. "Sir, I accept your challenge," Jaques mocked, drawing his sword and stepping forward. Without warning, he grabbed a dagger that had been lashed to his thigh and threw it at Luke, who had been circling around behind him. The blade sank into his left shoulder, where the arm meets the chest, and the force of the blow sent Luke staggering backward, clutching the handle. He stepped into a slight depression in the floor and he fell back, striking his head against the stone wall. He was unconscious before he hit the ground. Serenity gasped and ran to him, tearing a strip of her skirt off to bind the wound, which was pouring blood, crimson and black, onto the cold, thirsty earth.

Erik raced forward to seek Jaques' blade, and the swords met in a clash of will and steel. The men parried, exchanged blows, and drew back, neither gaining an advantage. Silver glinted, lithe bodies twisting to evade the bite of metal on flesh, the pair weaving, swaying, darting in and out of range; it seemed a beautiful, fatal dance as each man fought for his life. After ten minutes, both were glistening with sweat, their limbs trembling with exertion, breath shallow and ragged from the ferocity of this display. Finally, Erik lunged forward again, blade tip tilted to pierce Jaques' heart; the younger man twisted out of the way and grabbed the back of Erik's collar, sending him gracelessly to the floor. Before he could react, Jaques had the point of his sword pointed between erik's shoulder blades, one foot placed on Erik's back, a triumphant glint in his eyes.

Suddenly his body lurched forward slightly, his eyes becoming vacant. For a horrible instant, he remained frozen, before he pitched sideways and lay face upward, a small stream of red trickling out from behind his right ear.

Erik was on his feet instantly, and he looked, shocked, at his daughter; she held Luke's pistol, a thin stream of smoke still escaping from it, muzzle pointed at the space where the now-dead Jaques had stood only seconds before.

Serenity saw her father's stricken look, sobbed once, and dropped the gun as though it had burned her fingers, returning to Luke's side. Erik walked over, silent and slow, and laid a hand gently on his child's shoulder. She stood stiffly, and embraced him for a long time as he kissed her forehead and stroked her hair.

"Oh, Papa," she whispered in horror into his chest, "what have I done?"

"Serenity, listen to me. You saved me, you saved Luke, and you saved yourself. Two people owe their lives to you for what you did. Jaques was just as bad as his father. People like that do not deserve to walk on the same earth as someone like you. I love you, Senna, always. Do you understand?" She nodded weakly, uncertainly. "Good. Now, we have to get Luke help. Go find a physician. Hurry, Serenity, his life hangs in the balance."

The young woman straightened, dried her tears on a sleeve, and her eyes hardened. She whirled on one heel and ran, hair and tattered skirts flying, through the winding corridors and into the opera house above. Outside, the sun began to rise.


	20. Chapter 20

This is it, people. The Final Chapter. Chapter Twenty. It's been a great journey, but I think it's time to wrap things up. So, for the last time, happy reading. I hope you loved it. If you're ever going to review, I believe now would be the time. Thanks for all your support. See you again some time! (I own only Serenity, Luke, Megan, Jaques, Angelique, and David.)

Endings

Luke remained unconscious for hours, but he was expected to recover with time and patience. The doctor had warned, however, that he may never again have full use of his left arm; the blade had severed a nerve, and it was possible that Luke would never use his hand again. This news was, to a great musician, devastating. For weeks, with Serenity's aid and support, Luke struggled to regain the use of his numb fingers. With patience and determination, within three months he was working with both hands better than he ever had before.

"Senna," Luke said one day after the two had rehearsed an act from the newest stage production, "we've been engaged for four months, and we still have no plans for a wedding."

"I know," she said quietly. "I didn't want to push anything. I thought it best to wait."

"Well, I don't know how much longer I can stand having you so close, yet not my own."

"I am your own," she whispered, looking at him with such deep adoration and burning passion that he almost flinched away. "Now, and forever." He leaned forward and kissed her softly, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"God, how I love you," he told her suddenly.

"I love you too, Luke," she replied. After a second, she added hurriedly, "so let's get married."

"We are already engag- "

"No, now. Today. At the nearest church we can find. I am so tired of waiting."

"Senna, are you sure?"

"Absolutely. You have learned by now that I know exactly what I desire."

"Yes, I had noticed," he laughed. Serenity joined in his laughter, partially from happiness and partly because she knew that her mother had planned this abrupt proposal, and one of her own as well. And she laughed in knowing what a shock her father was in for.

"Erik," Christine said softly, earlier that same morning. He mumbled incoherently and sat up in bed next to her to look into her intense gaze. She kissed him softly, tenderly, and placed her palms on his cheeks. "I want to marry you."

"What?" he asked sharply, obviously startled.

"Oh, God, Erik, I've loved you since I was younger than Serenity. For God's sake, I had two daughters by you. We've been lovers since you returned here, and I want nothing more than to be your wife."

"Christine," he said more softly, "if people knew you were married to me, the dreaded Phantom of the Opera -"

"I don't care!" she replied, adamant. "I love you! We are not the children we were once, and I know my own mind. Please, Erik," she whispered. "Say the words."

He looked at her for a long moment, eyes unreadable, then go up and walked to the dresser. He opened a drawer and pulled out a small gold ring, diamonds glinting in the soft sunlight streaming through the windows. He returned to the bedside, knelt on one knee, and took Christine's hands.

"Christine Daae, you are the missing half of my soul. I could not live without you, and I ask you now to merge your life with mine. Will you marry me?"

"Oh, Erik, I've dreamt of those words for twenty years. Yes, of course." She leaned down and covered his mouth with hers, the years of separation, longing, and desire evaporating in this moment of perfect completion.

At the end of the double ceremony, attended only by Meg and David, Christine and Serenity wept with joy for themselves, their new husbands, and especially for one another. Erik and Luke looked on, both stunning in lavish black tuxedoes. The women were resplendent in white gowns, flowing and sliding across their almost identical figures. Erik looked at his bride, so long denied to him, and felt love well within his heart until he could not bear it any longer.

"Christine," he called, looking at her hungrily, "I believe it's time we were going."

The women exchanged glances, and Serenity giggled as her mother blushed. "It seems your new husband is a bit... eager," she teased.

"Have you seen yours?" Christine retorted. "The looks he's giving you don't exactly suggest anything innocent."

Serenity laughed again, hugged her mother, and walked over to kiss Luke deeply. She sighed, and slid her hand into his. He looked at her, eyes shining with unshed tears, and whispered, "I love you." She giggled again, kissed his nose, and pulled him out the door.

"It's hard to let her go," Erik commented softly as he watched his only child walk out the door with the man who would spend his life with her.

"I know," Christine sighed. "But there's no one else I would rather see her go with. And just think: at this rate, we'll have a grandchild within nine months!"

The corners of Erik's mouth flicked upward slightly into what might have been a smile, and he placed his arms around Christine's shoulders. The long-delayed couple walked out the doorway into a bright new world that seemed, somehow, larger, more infinite, and completely different than any they had known before.

The years passed quietly and kindly for the blissfully married couples. It was only a year before Serenity and Luke had their first child, a blond, blue-eyed girl who looked exactly like her grandmother. No one thought to call her anything but Megan. Two more children followed over the years: Veronica, tall and dark like her mother, and James, who was the very image of his father. Fate also had a surprise in store for the older pair; at the age of thirty-nine, Christine delivered a healthy, black-haired son named Alec. To their parents' immense joy, none of the children had received the dark inheritance of the Phantom, though all showed exceptional talent in music or art. So they grew, and they learned of their heritage together; and as their parents grew older and eventually died, their very presence, and that of every generation to come, kept alive the legend of the terrible, mystic Phantom of the Opera.


End file.
